Nothing Left
by greenblue26
Summary: season 5, ep. 4 spoiler. Dean has one last question to ask. Set in the garden.


Nothing Left

Spoilers up to season 5, episode 4.

Just a quick one shot I needed as a break, in between working on my final chapter for What a Brother Won't Do. Not a happy story by the way.

* * *

Flung across the garden, Dean landed painfully on his back. He stared up at the crisp white suit knowing that it was over. He had failed to kill him. There was no way that he would be allowed to escape this time to try again another. The only thing he thought he had on his side was the element of surprise, but he was the only one surprised this day. The resistance was all but dead--it's leaders having all walked into an ambush. The devil would rule the earth, and he was fooling himself if he thought his tiny bit of defiance could have even made a dent in that plan. Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinare, was nothing more than an annoying, buzzing fly.

He had only one regret.

"I want to talk to Sammy. One last time. Please."

The devil had a smile that could probably melt butter. It just didn't seem right that he should have those innocent looking dimples when he was anything but. Dean was surprised when he simply nodded, allowing his eyes to roll back in his head.

The simmering anger that replaced the peaceful grin made it clear who was in control. When Sam was angry, the veins tended to cord along the muscles in his neck. His jaw twitched as his teeth ground together. His whole body tightened, no longer moving with the graceful ease of confidence of the other being that sat idly by, waiting to return. "What the hell do you want."

"If you're going to let him kill me, I think I at least deserve to know why?" Dean asked calmly.

Sam gave him a pursed smiled that didn't quit reach his eyes. "You _did _just try to kill me, Dean. But I'm not actually angry about that. I know where we stand. You don't think you deserve it?"

"That's not my question."

"Oh. You know want to know why I said yes, Dean?"

"Of course I do."

"Ok. You and Cass were in Detroit. Trying to recruit, remember?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't know I was there."

"No. Kind'a found out later when I heard you sold your soul to the devil."

Sam actually laughed at that statement, throwing his hands on his hips in annoyance. "Hmmp. That's funny coming from you. It was never my soul to sell. Did you know that I was tracking down the Colt? That I had some last bit of desperate hope that I could somehow save myself?"

"No, I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I guess you didn't. You never cared where I was, or what I was doing, or if I was even still alive."

Dean wanted to deny it, to tell him that Sam had always been the world to him. Only he knew that was a lie now. Somewhere along the line; _no, not somewhere--_after hell, Sam no longer held that reverent place in his life.

"Well, at least you have the decency not to try and deny it. I just wanted a drink that night. Killing demons makes you thirsty, you know? So I went to this little bar, found a quiet booth in the back. And then guess whose voice I hear wafting over divider? And no, I'm not talking about my house guest."

_flashback_

"I don't understand why we have come here? Should we not be out trying to find a cure for the virus? It is spreading much too quickly."

"I just needed a break right now, Cass. I think we both know that there's no cure. The devil himself is here spreading it. You know, I just wonder, when hell decided to come to us."

"I think you know when, Dean. Perhaps it will help ease your conscience if you admit it to yourself."

He took a sip of his beer again, nursing it slowly. "Yeah, I guess I do. I'm not sure if anything will help do that. Do you know how time is different down there?"

"I am aware of the differences, yes."

"Well, remember when I told you that I spent ten years off the rack myself, torturing other souls? I often got a list of who they wanted me tear apart. 'My Assignment' is what they liked to call it."

"Again, Dean, I am truly sorry that we could not get to you before that took place. I suppose that it is a good thing that you lasted longer than anyone else could have."

"Dad did fine for almost a century, Cass. Thirty years is supposed to make me feel better?"

"Your brother only lasted approximately three months before he was begging to be let off, Dean."

"Yeah, well. Sam did ok. He may have lasted longer if I hadn't--well, they were different circumstances. He shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"You had no control over what your mother did before you were even born. She made the choice that decided his destiny. And yours."

"We all made choices, wrong ones. I should have left well enough alone. When he died in my arms, I could have let him be. Then maybe he'd have gotten to frolic in the happy place with butterflies and unicorns instead of going to hell for something he didn't do. If I hadn't made that deal with the crossroads demon..."

"Dean, your deal had no bearing on his final destination. It wasn't anything you did wrong to get him there. His soul had been marked for it before you were even born. A deal by your mother that could not have been changed. Had you not made your deal, he would have remained suffering in hell indefinitely."

"And suffer he did. I made sure of it."

"I do not understand?"

"Well, like I said, time down there is different. It's not linear, like it is up here. Up here, it's past, present, then future. Down there, the demons control time. It skips around to whenever is convenient. Well, they figured it would be convenient if his time down there coincided with mine."

The angel nodded as if say that he understood. "You were made to watch each other's suffering. I would assume that the purpose was to inflict emotional pain due to your relationship. My apologies. I was not made aware of the specifics of your confinement. Only that I was to extract you."

"I watched all right. Real easy when you got a front row seat. But I wasn't exactly a uh, spectator. I guess there's no easy way to say it--most of the time he was there, Sam was my assignment."

"You were ordered to torture your brother."

"No. I was _asked _to torture my brother. Alastair gave me my pick of serial killers, pedophiles, etc. But I chose Sam simply because he had pissed me off. I guess I was so angry that I was there, that I put him first and traded his life for my soul. At that point, I didn't even care that it was my fault. I just wanted him to pay for thirty years of pain. I yelled for him. I screamed for him, every time they tore me apart. He never came. He didn't stop it. He promised he would find a way to rescue me, but he lied. So I wanted him to hurt. And he did."

On the other side of the wall, Sam sat stunned.

In that moment, Sam could remember looking up into cold green eyes that he used to trust. They used to provide warmth and comfort. He couldn't understand why his brother was doing this, and why he still held all of those bloody instruments in his hand so cheerfully. Now, as he raised his stub of an arm, ignoring the blood that spurted from it, he tried to talk. He found he couldn't. His eyes darted to the slab beside him, despairing at the shredded piece of meat that used to be his tongue. He had only one recourse to plead with the once familiar face for mercy. It would have to be the sad, moss-green eyes that used to get him everything that the older boy could give.

"Awe, Sammy, no fair. Don't give me the doe-like, puppy eyes. You know I could never resist them. I always wished I could have some of my own." Dean kissed his little brother's forehead softly. He smiled sadly when Sam's head plunked down on the stone slab in relief, turning away quickly.

Moments later, Dean turned back, wearing a maniacal grin that twisted his once handsome features into evil incarnate. He picked up the sharpest of the knives at his disposal, hovering inches from moss-green eyes. "But I think I know a way of rectifying that...I just don't want you to forget. _Vestri animus est mei._"

_end flashback._

"I was trying to work up the nerve to come over and talk to you, at least until I heard your entrancing confession to Castiel. It triggered my memories of our little visit down under. Can't say it's a vacation I'd like to repeat. I pretty much figured at that point, that I didn't have any family. No friends. No future. Hunted by everything and everyone. Couldn't even kill myself and have a better afterlife. I'd just end up back there again. So then I thought, hey, there was _one _person who still wanted me. I had nothing left to lose. So I said yes."

Dean lowered his head despondently. "You didn't have to do that."

"What else did I have to live for, Dean? Oh come on, Man. It was my destiny. I couldn't have changed it. Everybody was against me. Including you."

"No..."

"Yes. Did you really think that an angel didn't know I was there in the booth next to yours...at the very same moment that you finally decided to make your confession? The very same confession that would send me running to make a deal with the devil. From the very same angel that opened the panic room door...that let me out...and allowed me to take part in that little prison break out...affectionately known to the rest of the world as the apocalypse? And how about our friendly neighborhood prophet? You think he didn't know?"

Sam watched the emotions flit across Dean's face. He enjoyed the gamut ranging from denial, to confusion, and finally to anger.

"So, it doesn't look like you're feeling too bad now about letting them walk into an ambush. Don't worry. I know you're not upset about me or anything. You're just pissed that they've been lying you all these years--I know how you hate when people lie to you."

Sam sighed softly, having tired of the conversation. If he gave it thought, the whole situation that used to be his life was just depressing. He just wanted to fade back to unconsciousness and let the devil take over again. He knew this would be the last time he'd ever be allowed back to the surface. For the past few years, the only way he knew of anything going on was when the devil allowed him to get a glimpse of his brother's activities.

Had he known that giving in was the only way he could ever get peace, he would have said yes years before he did. This was total oblivion, more than he could ever achieve in death. And like he told his brother, there was nothing else to live for. "So are we done now, Dean? Do you have all of the answers you wanted?"

"Just one more. I'm sorry for everything that happened, Sammy. Even after I'm gone, do you think you can ever forgive me?"

Over time, he was sure that the apology would grow on him, and that like always, he would accept it and move on. Right now, he was far too angry to forgive. He was out of time. He knew that he'd never be allowed to come to the surface again, there was no need once the thorn in the devil's side was removed. The only thing he could give Dean was the truth. He had everything else. The phrase that Dean repeated constantly when he tortured him came to mind. _Vestri animus est mei--your soul is mine._ How true that was. He had nothing left of himself. Sam also remembered that he promised never to lie to his brother again. He looked away and closed his eyes, replying softly. _"No."_

Moss green eyes fluttered open, the lingering sadness gone forever.

END.

AN: I know no latin, I got it from a translator program online.


End file.
